


Apply to Die

by TheWalnutGallery



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Spoilers, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), SaiOuMota - Freeform, Saioumota Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 07:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15576750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalnutGallery/pseuds/TheWalnutGallery
Summary: Saihara, Momota and Ouma bond over their favorite show, but why would they want to apply to be on a show where people actually die?For Saioumota Week 2018, Day 1 prompt Pregame





	Apply to Die

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I have written in a really, really long time, and the first one ever for Danganronpa for me. This is for Saioumota week 2018 using the prompt 'pregame' (saioumotaweek.tumblr.com)

Three pairs of eyes remained glued to a screen as a woman shrieked through their speakers, limbs tied tight to a device as they watched her get torn apart into pieces. The motion of the machine was slow, drawing out the agony while grating upbeat music blared in the background, unsettlingly mismatched. Eventually the limbs snapped like rubber as they flew from her body, bright blood soaking the execution room as the camera panned away from the sickening scene to the faces of her ‘classmates’, faces all showing varying degrees of horror and sorrow. 

“Whoa,” the smallest of the three boys breathed, finally able to release the breath he had been holding during the death. His arms stayed tightly wrapped around his legs that were pulled hard to his chest, toes curling in his socks against the sofa. 

“Yeah,” the agreement came in the form of a harsh huff, he could feel the immense heat in his reddened cheeks – the deaths always did that to him, even just thought of them would be enough to cause him to breath heavily and try to hide his embarrassing face with the brim of his hat. 

“Man, the executions this season are real graphic,” the largest grunted, leaning back on the shared sofa rubbing his eyes before grabbing another handful of crisps from the snack bowl laid out by their host. The ending theme finally played out from the TV signaling that it was about time for them to head to their own homes. 

“Thanks for having us over again Saihara-kun,” Ouma spoke in a small voice, lowering his feet to the floor and fidgeting with his fingers on his lap, unsure of where to look. 

“I’m still just glad to have people to watch it with,” Saihara responded quickly with a small smile, turning his gaze intently to him. 

“You don’t need to thank him,” Momota gave the small boy a hefty but playful slap on the shoulder, causing him to jerk forwards, “he probably gets off thinking about these nights, he should be thanking us.” Ouma quickly glanced between Momota and Saihara with wide eyes at the inappropriate suggestion, Saihara’s still reddened face did not help. 

“H-Hey, come on,” Ouma tried weakly to defend Saihara, but it was pretty hard to defend someone who fetishized the killing game quite as much as he did. Momota slapped his thighs loudly and stood in one strong action. 

“Whatever, let’s go and leave the weirdo to it,” he sighed, waving his hand as a signal to Ouma, who quickly joined him standing and gave a quick goodbye wave to Saihara. 

“Later,” the one still seated gave a fond wave back to them. 

 

The door slammed closed loudly behind Momota, Ouma flinched at the sound, snapping his eyes to the door accusingly then back in the direction they were leaving. Momota shoved his hands into his deep pockets lazily as they navigated the stairs of Saihara’s apartment complex. 

“D-did you enjoy the episode?” the stuttered question broke the silence between them, the realization that they hadn’t stayed long enough after the episode to really talk about it. The taller just gave a loud tut. 

“They’re all fucking stupid,” he complained, “why leave all that evidence every time? If someone just stabbed or choked someone in the middle of the night and actually cleaned up decently after themselves then they’d win.” This was a common complaint for Momota, while Saihara would always rant about how it would be boring if someone won in that way, and it wasn’t the way Danganronpa was meant to work, but he did make some sense. Why would all those people go on the show if not to win? Ouma gave a small hum as he continued, “if I was in Danganronpa, I would just kill someone and win without all that shit, yknow?” 

Those words always made Ouma nervous, ‘if I was in Danganronpa’. He wondered if Momota was serious, lots of people say they want to go on Danganronpa but they never really mean it. Everyone has all sorts of plans but most people wouldn’t actually join the death game, not really. Except Saihara, it was hard to imagine he wasn’t being serious when he came out with all of his designs and plots and potential stories for himself joining Danganronpa, for Saihara it was only a matter of time. 

“Would you really go on it?” he finally asked, eyes downcast at the concrete below their feet, the night breeze catching coldly against his ankles. 

“Yeah,” he answered with a careless shrug, “’Cause I’d win.” Neither boy said anything more until they reached the point in their journey where they’d go their separate ways. “Wouldn’t you?” 

“I,” Ouma began hesitantly, not meeting Momota’s curious narrow eyes, “I don’t know.” 

“Think about it,” he advised, deep voice serious, “applications for season 53 open soon, me and Saihara have already agreed to apply, I’m sure he’ll get you a form too.” He walked away without listening to Ouma’s response, he was sure that the small boy didn’t have one ready yet anyway. 

 

Momota had been correct. The pair had continued to go to Saihara’s apartment, even though the season had ended, only to be greeted with his gleeful expression and 3 forms positioned neatly on his coffee table instead of snacks. 

“I’ve been drafting out mine on different sheets of paper first, you guys should do the same,” the words tumbled from his wet lips quickly as he sat back down on the far side of the sofa, pulling out several sheets of ratty paper with messy writing scribbled all over. The other two took their seats as well, Ouma in the middle as they looked at some of the papers Saihara had already written. 

“Ultimate Detective, right?” Ouma’s question was answered with a curt nod, murky eyes expectantly locked onto them waiting for their reactions to his writings. 

“You better not think you’ll solve my kill,” Momota growled, jaw clenched. 

“Don’t worry,” he beamed back, “I don’t plan to win, so just do your murder after I die!” 

“You don’t, you don’t plan to win?” Ouma shakily echoed back, doe eyes watching Saihara’s hot face closely. Suddenly the distance between the two was closed and Saihara was pointing to the page in Ouma’s hands with newfound excitement. 

“See, here,” he shook the paper with his rough pointing, “ideas for my execution,” his haggard breathing uncomfortable close against Ouma’s face as he tried to read the words around the shifting of the paper. It was all so unsettling. “These are just ideas though, Team Danganronpa will probably come up with something way cooler,” his sweaty hands clenched into fists against his thighs, ”I can’t wait.” His voice reminded Ouma of a child excited for Christmas or something along those lines, he was used to Saihara’s usual creepiness but this was, it was more. 

“Man, you’re a freak,” Momota finally piped up, putting the page he was holding down. He could see how obviously uncomfortable this was making Ouma, and while he had to admit that it certainly was fun at times to mess with the pushover, this wasn’t as fun to watch. 

“What about you guys? You guys going to fill in the forms? You can take them home, or, or,” he interrupted himself, brain running faster than his mouth, “no, you two should write drafts and let me see them before you write it up properly, I want to see them.” 

“Jeez, yeah, yeah, we’ll let you see first or whatever,” Momota groaned, irritated by how annoying Saihara could get about these things. He really only hung around with him because he got real clingy in middle school when he found out that he’d liked Danganronpa too, and even when Momota was at his meanest Saihara would still not leave him alone. 

“Ouma-kun?” the frail boy was again reminded of how close Saihara was to him as he moved and brushed their shoulders together. “You haven’t said anything, you’re going to apply too, right?” he sounded so genuinely worried that Ouma might not apply, worried that his friend might not want to die. 

“I’ll,” he drew out the first sound, mind ticking over with how he could possibly respond, “I’ll write some stuff and show you,” he caved, not missing the sideways look Momota sent him. 

 

“You really want to do this?” Momota had asked once they were outside the complex, as if speaking about Danganronpa while still in the hallways would somehow still reach Saihara’s ears. 

“It doesn’t hurt to just write some stuff, right?” he looked up at Momota as if he would have an answer. 

“Guess so,” he nonchalantly huffed. 

“What kind of character would you want to be?” he asked quietly, curious and having no clue where to even start for his own character. 

“I want to win, so I have to be strong and capable right, but I can’t be super suspicious or aggressive or else they’ll just assume it was me anyway,” it seemed he’d actually put some decent amount of thought into it, “I suppose I’d have to be one of those lame goody-goody characters that builds everyone up and gets their trust, but then I get to stab them in the back and kill someone! No one would suspect someone they easily consider their ‘friend’ right, so it’ll be easy to walk away alive with fame and fortune and all that shit,” he grinned cockily, his voice had boomed his plans into the dark empty streets around them. Ouma just continued to stare at the floor, did his friends really want this? “Guess if we all get put in the same season and I win, then you and Saihara will have to die too, Saihara would be cool with it but I guess you have to decide if you are too.” He spoke like it was a given, that if he got in, he would win without a doubt. 

“Right,” Ouma meekly nodded, no reason to argue that he might not win and might just die with the rest of them. 

“You need to know why you’re joining,” Momota suddenly spoke seemingly out of nowhere. “I’m joining because I want to win, so my character needs to be able to win. If you work out why you want to join, then you’ll get an idea about what you want to be.” It sounded deeper than the things Momota would normally say, Momota was normally just full of threats and complaints, but he seemed to be as bothered by all this as much as Ouma was. “If you want join, obviously.” They split, walking their separate ways after that final statement. 

 

Ouma found himself unable to sleep that night, curled into a ball on his rickety old bed and an empty sheet of paper laying threateningly on his bedside table. His mind just kept throwing out the same questions, questions about whether he really wanted to join Danganronpa and why. Did he want to die? Not really, but was it really about that? 

Letting out a loud sigh and shifting onto his back he let his mind wander, he still wasn’t relaxed enough to sleep, still jittery from dashing through his home and hiding behind his bedroom door before he could be caught by his parents with angry questions about how he was spending his time. If he wasn’t ideal, then he wasn’t good enough for them and if he wasn’t good enough for them then he didn’t deserve anything they could give. Didn’t deserve food, didn’t deserve to feel safe, didn’t deserve love, didn’t deserve anything because he wasn’t good enough. He quickly shook himself from those thoughts, chest hurting and gut twisting, not good thoughts. Neither was thinking about Danganronpa. Or Saihara, or Momota who would both apply to Danganronpa, probably get accepted and die and leave him all alone. 

The three had only been brought together by their love of Danganronpa, that was all they ever talked about, courtesy of Saihara more than anyone. Though it had started off rough, he felt the happiest he’d ever been when he was with them, even if it was while watching people suffer. Momota had used to catch him on his way home from school, though they attended different schools their paths home crossed. Momota would grab him, yell threats and hit until Ouma was either satisfyingly beaten or gave over some money to his aggressor. Very frequently it was the former, concerningly so. Momota had admitted later that he’d thought Ouma looked kind of poncey so he’d have some cash on him, but that had not been the case. His sickly white skin and thin body had not been the result of some fashion. One day when Momota had knocked him to the ground his phone had escaped his pocket, Momota had considered taking it until he’d seen the Monokuma charm hanging from the corner. 

Danganronpa was plenty popular but being a fan in public was looked down upon by most people, despite people’s love of it they wanted to keep up the pretense that they weren’t enjoying the pain and murder of living, breathing humans. That's what had made the trio loners in their own communities. He remembered how Momota had stomped off after seeing it and instead of wailing on him as usual the following day, had grabbed his wrist roughly and taken him to meet his friend Saihara. He’d thought Saihara was pretty weird but had been too afraid to say anything or refuse meeting with them again, but their joint interest in Danganronpa always gave them stuff to talk about that they would all enjoy. 

His love of Danganronpa had let him make those amazing friends but what had pulled him in to Danganronpa in the first place? Whenever he thought of it he was acutely aware that it was awful, so why did he always make sure to watch every episode, read every forum post, absorb as much information about it as he could? Sitting up suddenly he snatched up the pen beside that blank sheet and began scribbling away into the night. 

 

“I can’t wait anymore!” Saihara had desperately cried out, staring at the pair on his sofa with burning eyes, hands gripping the edge of his sofa hard. They had stayed in silence other than their brief hellos at the door. Both Momota and Ouma gave small knowing grins, intentionally trying to drive Saihara crazy with their quiet. “Did you guys write anything?” he finally asked directly, turning his body towards them. 

“Here,” Momota’s deep voice rang out, holding the small scrunched piece of note paper front of Saihara’s face, his eyes widening for a moment from surprise at the fast action, but settling quickly into determination as he grabbed the paper from Momota’s large hand and smoothed it out in his own. They both watched Saihara’s face as he read. 

“A scientist?” he asked, glancing between the words and his face. 

“Yeah, you’d expect a scientist to do some convoluted killing shit right? That’s why they wouldn’t expect it! Not a biologist though, that might be too risky, but maybe like a chemist? Physicist?” he mumbled, raising a hand to touch his heavily gelled hair as if to check that it was still there. 

“Ultimate Physics Teacher, Kaito Momota,” Ouma giggled quietly, earning him a hard shove. 

“What about,” Saihara started thoughtfully, reading the paper a couple more times before continuing, “an astronaut?” 

“Astronaut?” Momota repeated, scratching at his goatee and bring an ankle to cross against his opposite knee. 

“They haven’t had one yet. Who wouldn’t trust the Ultimate Astronaut?” the paper was handed back to Momota gently. 

“That sounds pretty sweet actually,” he nodded enthusiastically, taking his notes and the form that still sat on the coffee table, “I’ll go ahead and write this up properly then, Kaito Momota, the Ultimate Astronaut and victorious blackened,” he announced proudly. 

Wordlessly Ouma pulled his own note from his bag and placed it into Saihara’s eager hands. Silence remained on the three as the mega-fan read the draft, almost panting through his open mouth. 

“Ultimate Leader? That’s surprising for you Ouma-kun,” he finally spoke up, sounding happy in his surprise. 

“Y-yeah,” his nerves were getting to him now that someone was actually seeing the things he had written. He noticed Momota looking up with interest too, a thick brow raised. 

“And no execution ideas?” 

“No,” another simple response, eyes dropping to his lap away from that passionate stare. His nails dug into his leg through his dark uniform. 

“You better not think you can win,” Momota snarled dangerously. 

“N-no, I,” he bit his lip, searching for the words, or rather trying to find the courage to say such twisted things. Surrendering and knowing that these are probably the only two people in the world who might understand he spoke again, keeping his head down, “I won’t kill anybody and I won’t win. I want somebody to kill me.” He squeezed his eyes shut in the following silence that hung between the three. 

“Why?” Momota was the first to speak up, “Why would you plan to be killed? I wouldn’t let you win either, but shouldn’t that still be your goal?” 

“I don’t plan to live either,” Saihara’s attention finally shifted off of Ouma. 

“Yeah, but you’re a wackjob that wants one of those fancy executions.” Saihara should have looked more offended at those words, but instead his mind just stuck on the idea of those executions and he almost lost himself to those thoughts. 

“I want to be remembered,” the answer was given in a weak whisper between the two, “and the one’s that get remembered, the fan favorite characters, are always ones that get killed in v-violent or brutal ways,” his voice trembled as he spoke. ‘I want to be remembered’ definitely sounded less pathetic than ‘I want to be loved’ but held exactly the same meaning. Momota gave a strangely irate hum in response but was beaten to speak by Saihara who had become suddenly inspired. 

“It’s perfect!” he was shaking too, but for a different reason, “First few episodes people start dying, I’m leading in the class trials and Momota-kun encourages everyone to be strong and vote and do the right thing. Ouma-kun messes with things like the crime scenes and stuff to try and confuse everyone to test us like Togami in the first game – lots of people love those kinds of antagonistic characters!” 

“Then we get to the class trial where I’m the blackened, it’s really hard to work it out because everyone trusts my deductions and I’m leading everyone to blame someone else, but Momota-kun steps in and tells everyone to say what they think is really going on and Ouma-kun starts suggesting it could be me. Eventually everything falls into place and my plan falls apart, everyone votes for me as the blackened and I’m executed.” 

“Ouma-kun becomes the one everyone looks to now that I’m gone, since he was the one who worked out that I was guilty first, but then body discovery! Ouma-kun is found dead, killed in a really cruel way which results in the others being too hesitant to get all the facts and their ignorance is realized in the class trial. They think they’ve worked it out and vote, but it’s wrong and Momota-kun was actually the blackened. He wins and everyone else is executed,” he finally gasped in a much-needed breath of air. He’d been speaking much too quickly, rant only punctuated by heavy gasps, saliva building in the corners of his mouth. They sat in stunned silence for a few moments, unsure of how to come back from that. 

“I win, so I’m cool with it,” a large hand gripped Ouma’s narrow shoulder, “how about it, want me to kill you?” the question was asked with a natural wide grin, emphasizing the small scars on his cheeks that were almost hidden by his poorly shaved stubble. 

“Yeah, you can,” he gulped, was it really okay? “You can kill me.” They were in agreement. 

Of course, they knew it didn’t really matter how much they thought about their own killing game, their own endings, ultimately it was up to Team Danganronpa to decide what to do with them. They would have their memories taken and replaced and they wouldn’t even remember these conversations, or even that they knew each other. It was still comforting though, that in this time before that happened they could imagine their killing game and get some sort of warmth from the idea that they would be doing this life-changing, and life-ending game together.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this fic, I am hoping to use these to improve my writing overall, so please give me any criticisms or improvements I could make in the comments - or if there was anything you particularly liked! I struggle to space out my writing properly and end up with huge paragraphs, so please let me know if that was an issue here as well. 
> 
> Thankfully pregame gives me some leeway and freedom for their characterizations for now!


End file.
